A Southern Story
by Cigarette
Summary: Moving down South to start her journalism career writing easy, quaint little Southern stories, Daisy Meyer finds she has a lot more in store for her in the form of vampires, murder, and everything else Bon Temps has to offer. EricOC. Rating may change.
1. Spacy Daisy

**Setting**: End of Season 1, right before they find the body in Andy's car.

A Southern Story

by Cigarette

**Chapter One**: _Spacy Daisy_

Downward Facing Dog. Three rounds of breath. _Breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out; breath in, and exhale slowly now as you bring one foot at a time up between your palms. Breathe in_. I'll never be able to do this without hearing my instructor's voice, those soothing tones like sugary late night talk-radio murmurings that make me so sleepy, in my head. But I guess it's not that bad. Yoga is supposed to be relaxing, no? It helps somewhat, when I manage not to drift off.

And right now I could really use the relaxation, which is why I'm forcing myself to do this at five thirty in the morning. This is my favorite time of day, though I'm almost never awake for it. The sun is still a bit off from the horizon, and the world outdoors is all cast in a cool blue glow. The birds are just starting to sing, and the air's not yet too hot — something which I never really took into consideration before moving down here to Louisiana. Which brings me to why I'm stressed: new town, new job, new life. I'm out on my own and in the "real world" for the first time ever, and though I don't like to admit it, I'm intimidated.

My parents would probably laugh at me. Intimidated? By a little hick town like Bon Temps? You'd think after a five-star education at a university like UVA, I'd recognize my superiority. You'd think I'd know I ought to be working up in DC at the Washington Post, or over in Atlanta at CNN. Now that would be intimidating, and that's why I'm content to start small. I certainly didn't have to come all the way to Louisiana to begin my career as a journalist, but I wanted to get away, and I've always loved the South. Bon Temps was one of the smallest places on the map, and I like the name. Good times! You know this town has to be fun. Anyway, I want everyone here to like me, and knowing they'll soon be reading my articles in the Bon Temps Observer is pretty nerve-racking.

_Exhale your hands to the mat._ I still have to find a story, for one thing_. Inhale feet back into Plank Pose_. What am I going to write about? What interests these people? Oh, god, I have no idea. _And exhale your whole body down to the mat, keeping hands beside the shoulders. _I'll have to go into town today and get a feel for the locals.

I inhale and lift my upper body into Upward Facing Dog before exhaling smoothing into Downward again, then dropping down onto my knees and hopping up to my feet. My brain is suddenly on overdrive, flitting through ideas and wondering about all the people I'll meet. There's no damn way I can get yogic in this state. I roll up my mat, pick up my blackberry and jump in my car, having had to drive out to this secluded area rather than try to relax in my tiny backyard. And let me tell you about my car: I love it. It's shit, but I love it. It's an ancient Volkswagen beetle convertible, lime green, that will barely start up without a good kick. It's adorable, and I guess that says a lot about me, doesn't it? Having a cute car is more important to me than having a reliable car.

Back at home I shower and attempt to get ready for a day out, but inexplicably I spend three hours deciding on an outfit. And I tell you, I am hardly satisfied with my choice, but you can only try on so many clothes before you finally give up and thrown on a dress in exasperation. So I'm wearing this pink ruffly affair that I just know my grandparents would adore and my boyfriend (if I had one) would scrunch his nose at. It's not sexy and it's not cute, but it's "pretty" and unoffensive. I look like a sweet innocent rose. I pull my hair into a simple ponytail and stare at the mirror, stuck. Eyeliner? Not today, I decide, and smooth a soft pink shadow over my eyelids and brush on the mascara. I step back to consider myself.

I don't look bad. Certainly not perfect, but I make an okay girl-next-door … sort of. Okay, my heavy Russian features ruin it entirely — the wideness of my face and the high cheekbones are just too much! And, damn it, I meant to get my eyebrows waxed again yesterday. I sigh, defeated. I could pass as one of those not-really-beautiful-but-somehow-attractive models you see in high fashion magazines — the ones that make you go _"how did she get to be a model?!"_ — but as an unassuming Southern belle? I am a total failure. If only I had inherited less from my Baba and more from my German Gramps. At least I got the blonde hair from his side.

I place my hands on my hips and gaze around the room. Now what am I going to do? It's barely nine am. Hardly a decent time to meet locals. I'm not in the mood to clean this epic mess I've just made, so perhaps I'll work on the kitchen? I've only been here since yesterday, so I still have a few boxes to unload. Well, most of them. My bedroom is the only thing I've finished. But then I realize I'm hungry and there's no food in the house. Time to socialize after all.

I take a last glance in the mirror and head to the door. I stop, run back for my keys, and head off into town.

Well, I don't know where to go. Bon Temps isn't a big place, but somehow I end up driving around for two hours looking for the perfect breakfast joint before giving up and settling on the next place I see: Merlotte's. It's a quaint little bar and grill, the privately owned, down home kind of place you expect to read about in Mystery novels. Hoping the food is not all grits and rice with gravy, I park my bug and go check it out.

Inside, it's cozy. A bit dimmer than I expected. There are stuffed animal heads mounted on the walls, but besides that not a lot of decoration. All in all a clean, promising establishment. There's a sign to inform guests they may sit wherever they please, so I settle myself into a booth. There are only a few people in the bar — obviously breakfast/lunch (it's about 11:30 now) isn't the busiest hour of the day. I'm there only for a minute before a peppy blonde waitress bounds up.

"Good morning!" she beams, order-ticket and pen at the ready. "My name is Sookie and I'll be taking care of you this morning. What can I get ya?"

I glance at the menu for the first time. "Oh, um, I haven't really had a chance to look —"

"Oh, I'm sorry, darlin'! Should I give you more time?"

I smile at her. Southern people are so damn nice, I can't get over it. I love how everyone calls you by old-fashioned endearments. "It's no problem. I just want something small. And some orange juice. Is the orange juice here fresh-squeezed? I don't like concentrate." I internally cringe as soon as those words leave my mouth. God, I know just how to be a picky elitist. Learned it from the best, after all. Mom and Dad.

Sookie seems unfazed, but shrugs apologetically. "Tropicana is all we've got."

"Oh, well, that'll be all right, actually," I say, trying to redeem myself. "And for breakfast, I'll have whatever you recommend."

She nods, her ponytail bobbing in that perfect Southern Belle fashion. Hmm. I wonder how well my ponytail bobs. "Okay, so I got your orange juice and a fried egg sandwich comin' right up." She smiles and whirls around to deliver the ticket, walking with a happy skip in her step. I wonder what's got her so pleased.

I sit back and gaze out the window, a little uncertain what to do with myself now. I watch a woman at the bar for a few seconds, but she seems to take my gaze the wrong way so I turn away.

Sighing, I sit back, tapping my nails against the table — an old habit I've never been able to stop.

"Here ya go!" I nearly jump as the waitress sets down my plate. Face burning, I offer up a half-hearted smile of thanks, realizing with some embarrassment that I've spaced out again.

I expect the waitress to move off to the next table, but instead she lingers, and sensing she's waiting for something I glance up from my fried egg sandwich and Tropicana orange juice. "Um, yes?"

"You're new around here, aren't you?"

I laugh awkwardly. "Ha, do I look that out of place?"

She gives a friendly grin. "No, it's only that I know just about everyone who comes in here, and I ain't seen you before."

"Oh," I laugh again. God, I hope I don't seem hysterical. "Well, I just moved in yesterday. Sorry, I'm Daisy. Well, Marguerite. Marguerite Meyer, but Daisy. Marguerite is French for Daisy. It's after my grandmom. She wasn't French, just —" I realize I'm babbling. I swallow that sentence and move on with bravado. "You're Sookie?"

"Sookie Stackhouse," she says, nodding, politely ignoring my awkwardness. We shake hands briefly. Her handshake is strong and confident. I must be sure in the future to be better at mine. "So where you comin' from, Daisy? Your accent is very pretty."

"Virginia, and thank you," I say, taking a sip from my orange juice. Too sweet, and I can taste the coldness from the pasteurization. I resist the urge to cringe. "I prefer yours though. I'm fresh out of college. Got a job at the local newspaper here."

Sookie is staring at me. "Now why on Earth would come all the way down to Bon Temps for that?"

I shrug. "Seems like a nice place."

She snorts. "Yeah, wait 'til you hear about the murders that been happening."

Now it's my turn to stare.

"Oh!" Sookie blushes. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I just … well I think you should be prepared to hear about it. People love to gossip in this town."

I force a wan smile, but my bubble of happiness suddenly has a leak. Murders is such a small, middle-of-nowhere town? "That's all right. I guess there are bad people everywhere, huh?"

"Guess so," says Sookie, a little sadly. There's an uncomfortable pause before she announces with her previous pep, "I should get back to work."

I nod. "Of course, but maybe we can talk later? You're the first person I've really met here." I hope that doesn't sound as needy as I think it does.

But she smiles even wider. "Sure! I don't get off work 'til late, but why don't you come on by in the evenin' and I'll introduce you to everyone."

I can't keep the delighted expression off my face. I'm sure I look stupidly giddy as I nod eagerly and say, "That'd be great. I'll definitely stop in."

"Great!" With that she turns on her heel and dutifully returns to work. I finish my breakfast quite happily (Sookie made a good choice), forcing out any of those insecure little thoughts that like to flit through my mind whenever I've met someone new.

The rest of the day takes _forever_. It's spent sorting out things in the kitchen, inventorying all the small but extremely important items I didn't think to bring with me (like the ice tray! I can't believe I didn't think I'd need an ice tray). It's spent wondering what color I should paint the living room for an hour, then remembering I have this place on rent and am not allowed to "alter" anything. It's spent folding clothes. It's spent watching day time talk shows and wondering how something being filmed live at three o'clock could have vampire guests.

It was nearly four last I glanced at the clock, and now Dr. Phil is over and it's five thirty and I don't know what the hell happened. Sitting on my hand-me-down sofa, I slam my head against the armrest. _Fuck_. What was I even thinking about? Ah, vampires. That's right. Dr. Phil set me off, I guess. Back at UVA I never got to meet any or really discuss them, it being a fairly conservative school, but since they came out of the coffin I've been intrigued. They're immortal, for God's sake! How could you not be intrigued?

I don't want to dwell on what was going through my mind. Let's just say my grandmother would have a heart attack if she knew I were thinking such things about fangers. Or anyone. It was just idle day-dreaming, anyway, but people might take it the wrong way.

Damn, I've been day-dreaming way too often lately. Not only about vamps, but everything under the sun. I zone out and the world around me melts and all these different places in my head begin to bloom, and I barely even notice. I shouldn't say "lately," actually, now that I think about it. It's more like "always." Junior year of high school my circle of friends started referring to me as Spacy Daisy. I once accidentally introduced myself that way in college.

Oh, god, I don't want to think about that.

It's too early to head back to the bar. And since I sort of have to hand in _something_ by Tuesday or lose my job, I set to work at my laptop. After ten minutes I'm still just staring at a blank document.

What the hell am I going to write about?

* * *

**AN: **Thoughts? I know what I'm doing with this story, but I can't decide whether she should go to Dallas or what.


	2. Sophisticated Marguerite

**note**: To keep you up with the timeline, this is the same night the dead body appears in Andy Bellefleur's car, but Daisy leaves for Fangtasia before that's discovered.

A Southern Story

by Cigarette

**Chapter Two**: _Sophisticated Marguerite_

This can't be right. This cannot be right.

Where am I? What is this_ hideous_ plush carpet? What …

Oh. I'm on my floor.

Still confused, I push myself up to my knees. Beside me is my laptop, lying flat open and dead. I fell asleep without turning it off? That is so typical of me, but then I realize my arm has a few letters imprinted on it. Ugh. I fell asleep _on_ it. Well, looks like I'm not getting any work done tonight. Too bad.

It's 7:17 pm. Perfect! I can't believe my luck. Usually when I pass out from lack of sleep I sleep through everything I wanted to do that day, but I still have plenty of time to head down to Merlotte's and get to know the locals. And now I'm well-rested to boot. My internal clock did me good, for once.

The bar is much busier now, but Sookie notices me at once and bounds up to greet me. Smiles are exchanged, people are met, I forget half of their names. I'm here mostly to listen in to what interests these people. I'd like to make friends, of course, but with my deadline not far off it's all I can think of.

As it turns out, the little town of Bon Temps is currently obsessed with vampires. The news about the Vermont vampire-human marriage legalization is up on the television, and it's all the talk. Apparently Sookie herself is in a vampire-human relationship. Who'd have thought?

Then it hits me. What's do people love reading about? Controversies. What's a huge controversy right now? Vampires. Oh my god. Yes! That's it! I will write a column about vampire-human relations.

I'm about to broach this with Sookie, when I hear something. "A damn disgrace," a rather plump woman is saying. "That vampire bar so close to home, and now this. Only a matter of time before people lose their minds and legalize that abomination right here in Louisiana."

"Excuse," I cut in, leaning closer over the bar where I'm sitting. The woman is at the other end. "Did you say vampire bar?"

She nods gravely. "Fangtasia!" she huffs. "Can you believe it?"

"No, no, can't believe it," I mutter, shaking my head. On the inside I am gleeful. Vampire bar! Close to home! Why wait for Sookie to introduce me to her vampire (which she said she'd be pleased as pie to do tomorrow night) when I can go meet a whole club full of fangers right now?

I pay my tab ($2.90 for a bottle of water … ridiculous), say a quick goodbye to everyone in hearing distance, and split. Sookie tries to question me but I'm out the door before she has a chance to say a word.

After finding directions online, I contemplate what I should wear. Something cute, pretty, casual, unassuming, out-there, sexy? Hmm. Sexy is probably not a good idea. I don't want to look like I'm there for the wrong reason. Maybe a suit? I almost laugh at myself at that. To a vampire bar? No.

Finally I settle on my favorite dress. It's a goldish color, just above the knee in length, and built in Vintage French-style, with an elasticized waist to show up the form, but a bit of extra body to make you look more curvaceous than you really are. It has a green hem around the bust, and it's embroidered with classy pink and green flowers. Somehow it all comes together to appear trés sophisticated.

I add a little eyeliner for a more suitable night time look, fix my coverup, and consider adding blush but decide against it because I'm never sure whether I should apply it directly to my cheekbones or just below my cheekbones. I take my hair down and add some earrings, and pink heels.

Eh, maybe I am too sophisticated. The heels help though. Kinda funky. Okay, got my purse, got my keys, phone is charged … what am I forgetting? I feel like I'm forgetting something.

I can't think of anything, so I head off. Shreveport isn't terribly far, but once you're halfway there it's kind of too late to turn back, which is why I end up cursing like a fishwife when I remember I don't have my freaking _notepad_. What an awesome journalist I am.

At the entrance to the club, there's an intimidating blonde woman in a leather corset, checking IDs and turning people away. I swallow, but hold my head up high and march toward the back of the line, trying to look like I know what the fuck I'm doing. There's a woman in front of me in dominatrix attire and thick makeup and bite marks on the back of her neck. I nearly turn around, I feel so out of place. But I remember my story, and stick it out.

The blonde at the entrance looks me up and down, and smiles a wry little smile. "Well, aren't you sweet," she remarks. I think sarcastically. I smile and hand over my ID. She gazes at it a moment.

"22. Virginia. I knew you weren't from around here."

How can everyone tell that? "I haven't got my Louisiana license yet …"

"Why are you here?"

"Um." I didn't expect an interrogation. "I, well I just like the South, so …"

She clicks her tongue, rolls her eyes in apparent exasperation. "I mean here. At Fangtasia."

"Oh." I can't stop myself from blushing now. "Just curiosity. I've never met a vampire before, and it's been two years so I thought … I should get on that."

She raises a cool eyebrow. "Well, now you have, sweetheart." She hands back my ID.

It takes a lot out of me to walk by her as calmly as I do.

Inside it's … kind of emo. A little disappointed, I head over to the bar for some liquid courage, because despite the décor there are clearly vamps here and the people dancing on stage are freaking me out. I'm not really sure what to order, so when the bartender looks at me expectantly I blurt out the first thing to come to mind: "Vodka. Uh, please."

"How do you want it?"

"Um … normal."

The bartender regards me with bemusement, but sets down a glass in front of me and pours the Absolut straight into it. I stare at it in fear. Why did I say vodka? God damn it. I can't back down now.

I hear a woman to my right say, "Can I get a cosmopolitan?"

Oh, damn, why didn't I order one of those instead? The bartender has turned back to me now, obviously amused, gazing at me with a "I-know-you-aren't-going-to-drink-that" expression in his eyes. I take a deep breath, straighten up, and lift my glass with a confident smile. Pumped up on bravado, I take a big gulp.

Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. Burning, fire, rubbing alcohol, spilling all over my tongue and down my throat. My mouth is watering and I know there are tears in my eyes. I hold back a cough and try to grin at the bartender, but it turns out as a grimace. He barks a short laugh and moves off.

I squash down my embarrassment and throw back another gulp of vodka. It's not as bad this time. I can already feel the alcohol buzzing in my head and making my limbs feel light. I finish the rest quickly and gaze around the club, wondering how I'm going to broach my subject and with whom.

There is someone who's rather impossible not to notice, for one big reason: he is on a throne. A _throne_. Some blond, bored vampire. And there's a (clearly human) woman approaching him, orange with tan and skinny as a stick. Kind of meth-addicty in appearance. She kneels down at the throned vampire's dais (for it's not enough to have a throne, he needs to be raised above the crowd as well) and gazes in awe at him. For his part, he seems completely uninterested, and after a few seconds he kicks her away. I don't mean a light little nudge. I mean she flies across the room. All we humans in the club gape, but the vamps go on as usual.

Well, if there's anyone I should talk to about vampire-human relations, it's this guy. But after that episode, I will first need a shot.

"Bartender," I say, clapping my palm against the bar. Perhaps a little obnoxiously. "A shot of …" I try to think of something other than vodka, and the first thing that comes to mind is, unfortunately, "Whiskey." It's quite clear he can see the remorse on my face when he rolls his eyes.

"Why don't you just have a wine cooler, little girl?" he asks.

_Ouch_. I try to look indignant. "Excuse me, sir, but I know what I want, and I want a shot of Jack Daniels," I huff.

He shrugs and places the shot before me. I pick it up immediately and throw it back without hesitation, thinking this should be just like jumping in a cold pool. You don't want to test the waters and scare yourself out of it. You want to go for it all at once, without giving yourself a chance to turn back.

My mouth is watering like it does just before I have to throw up, but I set my shot glass down as calmly as possible and force another smile. My head is practically swimming. I'm way too used to beer for this stuff. Why didn't I just order a beer? For god's sake, what was I thinking?

Okay. I'm fine. I'm tipsy, that's all. The perfect condition to go talk to some kind of vampire king in a vampire bar no one knows I'm at. Truly great. I stand up, adjust my dress in what I hope is a delicate way, and stride through the crowd straight to the dais.

His gaze flickers toward me, but he looks just as disinterested as he was with the last woman. I almost blush as I realize he thinks I'm about to offer myself to him, but instead I smile cheerily and say, "Hi, I'm Dai — Marguerite Meyer. I'm a writer for the Bon Temps Observer and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?" I was going to say Daisy, but it just seems so unprofessional, and young … I'm among centuries old vampires. I want to seem sophisticated.

This vampire is like the epitome of intimidation. Not looking at me, he deadpans, "Questions about what?"

"Vampire-human relations. A positive take, of course."

"Not interested," he says. It's a clear dismissal, but I'm drunk and I have a goal in mind.

"Are you some kind of vampire leader?"

"I said: not interested." His voice is low, dangerous. I feel a tickle of fright, but how can I expect to get anywhere without perseverance?

"You aren't doing much else," I say, taking an alcohol-induced step closer to the dais. "Would it really be such a waste of time to humor me?"

Unintentionally, my "sad face" slips on. This is the face I use when I want something I'm not getting. I'm no mistress of manipulation, but every girl should have a sad face, and mine is perfect. Lips turned down ever so slightly, the bottom one jutting out just a tiny bit, mouth agape, and my eyes wide and woeful, I look like a crestfallen child who's just had Christmas taken away. It's one my few prides.

If anything this only serves to amuse the vampire. His lips twitch up as he continues to watch the gyrating crowd. "Yes, it would be."

My pout is full force now. I can't stop it. "But it's in vampires' best interest. If I can expand on my article and write a book, and get it out to a greater audience, it could really improve the vampire image. There are people out there who only get their information from the news — nothing but talking points. I want to personalize the every day vampire to the every day human, so that we can better understand each other."

He contemplates me, for the first time sparing more than a fleeting glance in my direction. I try not to squirm under his scrutiny, but I find myself wondering _Does my hair look okay_? "Three questions," he says at last, clasping his hands leisurely. "But in return, I want a taste."

My heart plummets to my stomach. "A taste? Of … my blood?"

"What else?"

I swallow, shift my weight. I may be drunk, but I don't know about that. "I don't know about that," I say aloud.

His lips twitch upward. "Afraid?"

"Yes." No point lying there. I'm sure he can hear my heart, anyway.

"A little pain's nothing to fear."

"It's not that," I say. "I just don't want to end up some kind of … pet."

"You flatter yourself."

My face burns. "Fine, a small taste."

"Sit," he commands, indicating a chair beside his own. Carefully, really really carefully, I step onto the dais. Don't trip, don't trip, please, god, don't let me trip. I make it up without humiliating myself, and manage to take my seat with some amount of grace.

I turn to the vampire, and notice all of a sudden that he's basically wearing sweats. Hmm. I have a feeling he might mess with me, so I ask, "First, do you promise to be truthful?"

He smirks. "That counts as question one. And yes, you have my word."

"That's not fair!"

"Two more questions," he says, holding up two fingers. His tone bars any argument.

Deflated, I think for a moment. "I need your name," I say. "For source references."

He sighs, obviously disappointed I didn't waste another question, but too disinterested to bother making me work for it. I'm feeling quite proud of myself for this clever approach, but then the name spills from his lips in two smooth syllables and my skins crawls. "Eric," he says.

Oh, god. I hate that name. Bad, bad associations with that name. "Is that with a C or a K?" I hear myself asking. "Oh, fuck, forget I asked that!"

"Too late. It's with a C."

At least it's not Erik. Okay, get that out of your head, Daisy. This is Eric with a C, and he's blond. Don't let it remind you. Move on. "Well," I begin uncomfortably, "I guess I just have one more question. Give me a second to think of a good one."

"You're rather unprepared for this, aren't you?"

"I'm prepared," I protest. "I just forgot my notepad."

"Okay, I got one," I begin after a moment. Then pause. Way to sound unprofessional. I got one? Ugh, it sounds like I'm quizzing him. "Do you, or other vampires, believe in a god?"

"We are as diverse as humans on that subject. Now that makes three." He finally looks at me. He stands and beckons for me to do that same. Don't trip, don't trip. I follow him out of the clubroom and into what I assume to be his office. My heart is pounding. I try to soothe it. Just a little … puncture wound. A brief sucking sensation, and he'll have had his taste. Nothing serious. And this isn't bribery, or some weird form of prostitution. It's like … a conference snack table. He answered my questions and now it's time for refreshments. Perfectly normal.

He shuts the door behind me and I look up from my feet. He is way too close.

"Ah!" I step back impulsively. He's smiling at me, mockingly. But I hadn't noticed before — he's _huge_. I don't mean just tall. He's towering. He's got the broadest shoulders I've ever been this close too, and so much muscle even he weren't vampire he could probably crush me to death. He's just … big. Unbidden, a thought pops into my head, and, to my intense embarrassment, a drunken giggle escapes me. Oh, god, real mature, Daisy. My whole body is on fire.

Eric stops smiling as he backs me against the door. "Now, what's got your blood rushing to the surface like this?" He lifts a hand, and as his cool skin lightly grazes my face the effect is undeniably soothing.

"Nothing," I murmur, as his hand begins to travel down my neck. "Oh! Not my neck. Make it my shoulder or somewhere I can … I can cover easily."

He laughs, and pulls my hair back.  


* * *

**note:** thanks for all the reviews so far! I love hearing feedback. Lemme know what you think! And sorry for the cliff hanger. :)


	3. Swoon

A Southern Story

by Cigarette

**Chapter Three**: _Swoon_

As the two sharp fangs belonging to the Viking God Vampire puncture my skin in one invisible movement, pain and fear are miraculously far down on the list of emotions I'm experiencing. Shock is at the top. One second, Eric was merely touching me, and before I realized he'd even moved I felt him bite into my neck. Next on the list is indignation because I specifically asked him not to bite my neck, and it can't be such an inconvenience to him to find another location, can it?

The pain … is not nearly as bad as I expected. I deal with way worse than this on a monthly basis. His fangs are so sharp and the bite was so sudden, it can't hurt that much.

That's not to say it doesn't hurt _at all_. It definitely does. But it was over quickly. A fast bite, and then the sucking.

Speaking of which … this is going on a little too long. I start to panic. This is more than a taste. Way more. It's been at least a minute! Oh, god.

My heart speeds up. This is not a taste. He's _feeding_ on me.

"Eric," I say, "that's enough." I start to squirm when he doesn't heed my protest, but in reaction he only pushes his body closer to mine, effectively sandwiching me between him and the door.

"Eric! This is not a taste!" I try to push him away, but he's like a stone wall, and I can't move my legs at all. He pulls his head back for a second. I feel his tongue, warmed by my blood, lick the puncture wounds.

"I am tasting," he says, and his mouth is on my neck again. It vaguely occurs to me I might also have a hickey to cover up.

"That's deceiving!" Struggling isn't getting me anywhere, but that doesn't mean I stop. I whine and wriggle. Eric growls and pins my wrists against my sides.

Oh, god, he's going to drain me. I start to feel dizzy.

"I …" I can't tell him. Forming words is … the room is so dark all the sudden. Oh, no. "Lighthead," I manage to get out.

Just as I'm about ready to faint, Eric pulls back. His lips are red with my blood. I can barely stand up, but luckily Eric is still pressed against me. Hah, luckily. No, that's not lucky at all. Wow, I feel … so light. I guess blood is heavy? "You're slightly anemic," he says matter-of-factly. "That's why you're swooning even though I've taken relatively little from you."

"Oh," I breathe, fighting to keep my eyes open. "I didn't know."

"You need more iron in your diet." Delicately, he wipes away some of my blood trickling down the corner of his mouth.

"Okie."

­­­­­

* * *

What the … ?

It's dark. Completely dark. Oh, no, I'm blind!

Wait, that's jumping to conclusions. Surely the lights are just off. I roll over on to my side, feel around. Aha! My blackberry.

Hmm. I guess I passed out. According to my blackberry it's nearly seven in the morning, and after shining it around I find I'm on a beat up leather sofa in the office where Eric bit me. I have an _awful_ headache.

At least I know he's gone to sleep now. I can't _believe_ I fainted. God, how embarrassing. I'm eager to get out of here asap. I grab my purse (which seems to have been placed beside me on the sofa) and hastily quit the office, using my phone as a flashlight. Outside of the office, the lights are on, and Fangtasia looks even cheesier empty. All black and red and leather. I always thought the idea that _this_ is what vampires are into was just a stereotype, but I guess not …

I hurry to the door, practically tripping out of my heels. I want to get home, now. I don't want to be here. I don't want to think of my blood in Eric's system. I don't want to think of his red lips. All I want is a cup of warm tea and a bath.

I reach the door … and it's locked. I have to idea how to open it. What the hell? What kind of door needs a key from the inside? It briefly occurs to me that Eric is trying to keep me here, but that's ludicrous and vain. There's no way I'm even slightly interesting to him … except for that he clearly enjoyed feeding on me. But whatever. I yank the handle repeatedly. Come on, come on. Open!

"You must be Marguerite!"

I start and whirl around. A blonde woman is standing there, decked out in full prostitute regalia, smiling goofily at me.

"Eric told me you'd be here," she says, coming out from behind the bar where she was doing who-knows-what. "I'm Ginger." She holds out her hand and I shake it, somewhat nervously.

"Uh, yeah. It's Daisy though. Can you let me out?"

"Oh, sure! Daisy. That's a pretty name. I like daisies." As she's pulling out her keys, and I'm feeling relief so intensely I could swoon, she says conversationally, "I know they can be a bit, frightening, huh? That's why you fainted? But they really aren't that bad once you get to know them. I'm a bit surprised Eric let you stay on that couch though."

"Well, what else would he have done with me?" I ask. "He couldn't have just tossed me out on the street."

She gives a short little giggle, as though I'm silly for think he wouldn't, and the door swings open.

I'm out of there with a quick goodbye and on my way. It might be rude, but fuck it. I want to get home.

I might be over-reacting, I realize halfway there. After all Eric didn't kill me, he technically answered every question he promised to, he let me sleep safely in his office (anywhere else in that bar I could've been a free-for-all snack), and even let me know I needed more iron. That was very helpful of him, actually. If he never told me and I were to keep forgetting to eat, I could end up fainting in any number of embarrassing situations. So really this whole experience was more beneficial than anything.

At home I do exactly what I planned. Tea, bath, thinking. I decide it'd be worth it to go back to Fangtasia, as I need a whole lot more for my article, but not tonight. Tonight I don't want to fear for my life. And I believe I'm supposed to meet Bill. I'll have to go find Sookie and see if that's still on. Then I find the morning newspaper, and the front page headline nearly bowls me over: _Dead Woman Discovered in Local Cop's Car_.

Oh, god. Oh, god. I'm going to faint. I _met_ Andy Bellefleur last night. Oh my god. I drop the paper and run into the kitchen. The only food in my whole house is a bag of chips. Not exactly high in the iron and B-12 I need, but it's better than nothing at all, and I'm shortly stuffing my mouth with Lays. I need to breathe, I need to calm down, and I almost choke attempting this with a full mouth. I spit up half-chewed potato chips into the sink, clutching the edge.

Okay. Calm down, Daisy. Calm down. Look at the article. See? Andy's not being considered a suspect yet. No worries.

… Yet.

Ugh. I suddenly don't know if I'm up to meeting Bill tonight. I can't take all these vampires *and* murders at once. But I don't have Sookie's number to cancel so I'll have to go to Merlotte's again.

* * *

It's Monday night. I haven't really been out of the house since I canceled with Sookie. She was disappointed, but seemed to think it was for the better. She said she and Bill had something they needed to talk about anyway.

More importantly, I've mastered how to coverup bite marks. It takes some pretty expensive cover ups (I have three: liquid, matte, and mineral powder), but it's almost invisible now. Also I haven't gotten a damn thing done when it comes to my article, and my deadline is tomorrow. I have five sentences. Five. I've put this off far too long, and now I can't think straight. It's too late to go back to Fangtasia and get more vampire input. I'm stuck with Eric's one useful answer.

I need to buckle down. I have less than 24 hours to bullshit this whole article and keep my job. And in order to do that … I will need snacks.

I prepare myself a snack tray. At the grocery store, I went in intending to buy only healthful, organic, iron-enriched foods, but somehow came out with mostly pudding, chocolate muffins, onion dip, artificial fruit leather, cheese crackers, fudge sickles, toaster strudels, and grapes. I also got some Alaskan caught salmon, almonds, eggs, and dried apricots (all high in iron) but so far have not touched them. I pile small portions of all this junk food on to my tray and head into the living room, where I set it down on my Ikea coffee table, and open up my laptop.

As my fingertips graze the keyboard, I notice something.

"Ewww." When was the last time I painted my nails? The coral polish is chipped as all hell, plus my nails could use some serious buffering. I _know_ I'm not going to be able to focus on my article with nails like these. I have no choice but to fix them.

It's as I'm painting the last nail on my right hand that I realize this red is perhaps _too_ red, and so close in color to blood that I almost consider removing it. But … it's kind of enchanting, and red complements so many of my clothes. Besides, nail-polish remover is a pain in the ass and I don't want to deal with that again.

Finishing my left hand, I suddenly hear a low voice from outside. As I'm seated by an open window, it's not something that'd normally frighten me. But that voice sounds damned familiar. I set down the polish and lean over my armrest, out the window. I see a shadow at the house across from mine … a tall, blond shadow. I can't hear what's being said, but I'm certain that's Eric. I'm leaning all the way outside my window now, and I can just make out something about a leg. Why is Eric talking to my neighbor about legs? What the hell kind of trouble has my neighbor gotten into?

After a few minutes Eric is invited into neighbor's house. I can't believe it. Before I realize what I'm doing, I've crawled out the window. I feel silly considering my front door is like a room away, but I've already done it, so oh well.

I can still hear voices. It seems Neighbor's window is open as well. I slink over, all stealth, and peer in.

Sure enough, there's Eric, and — someone who fits the description of Lafayette (who I never got to meet due to his being missing). What nearly makes me fall over is that _Lafayette is drinking Eric's blood_. What the … !

Not knowing what to make of this, I slide away from the window. Eric is saying something about flying, and I know he'll be coming out the door to my left any second. Now the question is … do I run and hide? Or do I take the convenient opportunity to get more vampire info for my article?

I realize my heart is pounding. And I realize that means Eric already knows someone (me) is out here. Damn it. I have no choice.

The door swings open and closes with two quick clicks, and there's Eric, gazing down at me. I feel like a kid caught stealing candy.

"Hi," I say.

"Marguerite," he acknowledges. "What are you doing?"

I attempt a casual shrug. "I was just … admiring Lafayette's lovely … siding." I caress my hand up the house in apparent appreciation. "Yep, it's way nicer than mine." What the hell am I doing? I could shoot myself.

Eric seems amused. "I see. And it was necessary to stand in his garden to do this?"

"Hey, speaking of questions," I reply, stepping onto the porch with him. "Since you're here, I've prepared a more coher— er, comprehensive list of topics I'd like to know vampire opinions on."

"I don't have time."

"Where you going?" I ask, jumping into his path as he makes to leave.

Eric looks down at me like I've lost my mind, and opens his mouth to say something but — surprisingly — immediately closes it, and a thoughtful expression crosses his features. I watch expectantly, hoping privately this expression has nothing to do with killing me, and wait nearly two full minutes. Eric apparently have no qualms about keeping me in suspense.

Finally he says, "Follow me" and sweeps away, barely glancing at me.

I obey, but run around into his path again and hold out a hand. He stops inches before bumping into me. Pushing down the fear that rises in me at this proximity, I command, "Wait. Where are we going?"

"Dallas," he answers succinctly.

I gape. "Oh …. uh, why?"

"Are you interested in learning more about vampire culture or not?"

I make a split second decision, and go _completely_ against my gut. "Yes, yes! Um, I need to pack a bag though."

Eric nods, still thoughtful. I'm baffled as to why he'd invite me in the first place. Man, I wish I could read minds! "Do that while I call the airport to arrange your ticket. Where's your house?"

"Follow me." I whirl around, quite pleased to be the one making that order. I stride up to my front door with a confident bounce in my step, but when I get there it falters at once because I realize my door is locked and I don't have the key on me. Oh, god.

Eric, being the highly astute vampire bastard he is, notices the change. "Something wrong?"

"I think I accidentally locked my door." I try the handle for show. "Yep, locked. Haha, woops! Well, I'll have to go in through the window." I march around to the side of my tiny house and, to my dismay, Eric follows.

"Conveniently open," he states, smiling wickedly.

My cheeks flush. "It's a nice night."

The embarrassment culminates when I remember I'm wearing a dress. But there's no turning back now. Awkwardly, I manage to swing one leg over the sill without flashing Eric in the process, and the rest is cake. I nearly bump my head on the windowpane, but remember to duck not a second too soon. Once in, I head off to my bedroom, but Eric calls back,

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

I stop.

"I need to call the airport."

I turn around. "You don't have a cellphone?"

Eric shrugs is an obviously fake innocent way. "I seem to have forgotten it."

I dip around to the other room and come out with my own cellphone. I toss it at him, and he catches it deftly, his expression bemused. "You can use mine." Not sparing him a second glance, I hurry off to my bedroom. I can't help but feel proud of myself, but I have other things to worry about. 1.) I am going to Dallas with a vampire I hardly know, whose reasons for inviting me are questionable, 2.) my deadline is tomorrow which means I'll have to whip something up on the plane and email it in when we arrive, and 3.) what the hell am I gonna pack?

Okay. It's summer. This is Dallas. So I need … glamorous sun dresses? Hm, don't have many of those. And I don't have much time. I don't want to make us late for flight, especially after refusing to invite Eric into my house. I'm sure he's already annoyed enough. Hastily, I grab five random dresses from my closet, a fancy white suit I bought on a whim, a few pairs of pajamas, and as many panties and bras as will fit in my duffel bag. I throw in sneakers, sensible heels, and I slip on my favorite flats. Adding my overnight bag with all the necessities, I'm ready.

Physically, at least. Mentally? I'm about to die.

I must be insane to do this.

Back in the living room, Eric is flipping my cell closed, his eyes directed through the window toward the corner of the room. I turn to see what he's looking at.

My snack tray.

"Trying to gain weight?" he asks.

I drop my duffel bag with a huff. "_No_," I intone, and quickly run the tray to the kitchen, snatching a pudding cup for the plane ride. I throw it in my purse.

The house needs to be locked up before I leave, so I go back to Eric and, as calmly as possible, shut the window in his face, telling him I'll be right out. He remains there, watching me. Doing my best to ignore this, I lock it and shut the blinds.

Outside, I find him at the door.

"You certainly took your time," he remarks.

I frown. "I went as fast I could."

Eric hums. "I sometimes forget how slow humans move."

* * *

**AN**: Sorry for the delay! Work has been hectic. Look for another update on Thursday, or if not then then Saturday at the latest! I hope this has lived up to expectations. :)


	4. Some Trouble to Come

A Southern Story

By Cigarette

**Chapter Four**: _Some Trouble to Come_

My article lacks substance. I'm not ashamed to admit this. I'm disappointed, but it is what it is. Though of course it's mostly due to my own laziness, I'm directing all annoyance to Eric for being so evasive. Since I had so little to go on, I filled most of my space with promises of what's to come. Vampire Opinion on Turtle Necks, Vampire Opinion on Human-Vampire Marriage, Vampire Opinion on Kittens, Vampire Opinion on Your Favorite Movies.

Okay, so it's trés silly. I'm fine with that.

I email it in while waiting for Eric at the airport in Dallas. I fear the wi-fi charges are going to be horrendous, and I'm trying not to think about it. Eric strolls by as I close my laptop, all gloom and gorgeous doom, and beckons me along. I frown, but like a sad little puppy I follow. I stare at him the whole car ride, because when I asked about what we were doing he looked at me like I was an annoying fly and refused to answer. Unfortunately he's unaffected by my seething gaze, but it gives me a nice excuse to admire his face.

Hotel Carmilla is brilliant. I want to meet whoever thought of this. Human or vampire? Either way, what a fabulous idea. There aren't many vampire friendly hotels around, and one in such a large city as Dallas has got to make a ton of money. At the check-in desk I pick up a pamphlet and for a few seconds just stare at it, completely confused. Asian female, 19, straight, A+. Caucasian male, 22, straight, B-. Caucasian female, 21, lesbian, the hell?

"That's the menu," I hear Eric say. I raise my head, mouth slightly agape, to see him watching me with a sly smile.

My mouth forms a quiet "O" and I put the _menu_ back where I found it. Eric steers me toward the elevator, and I'm trying to ignore the feeling of his touch against the small of my back as we step in and he punches the floor button in. I distract myself by noticing we're fairly close to the roof, this hotel actually has a 13th floor, and my hair sort of has streaks of silver in it under this light … but not really. No one would ever notice anyway.

Eric's closeness is starting to bother me. I try not to think about it, but it's making me nervous. Why the hell is he standing this close to me? As casually as possible, I glance up at him. He's gazing ahead, entirely unconcerned with his surroundings. I almost think he's forgotten I'm here, but that's absurd. He couldn't not know. I'm like one inch from him.

The elevator ride doesn't end soon enough, but as we step out onto the floor into the fancy corridor of Hotel Carmilla, my heart suddenly skips a beat and my stomach plummets. I think back to our time at the check-in desk — although I hadn't really been paying attention, I'm sure he paid for only one room. I want to stop and say something, but I feel like I can't. I don't want to have to pay for another room. This place looks pricey.

Some rules will just have to be established. This will be fine.

Inside the room is spacious. All grays and blacks and whites. Grim but sophisticated and tasteful. Unlike Fangtasia ….

I drop my duffel bag on the sofa and straighten my dress out. I'm about to ask Eric what we're doing now (and am kind of dreading the answer) when he says, "Get your notepad. We're going down to the bar."

"Uhhn," I say intelligently. I expected a little more time to settle in and perhaps primp before setting to work, so I can't be blamed for being a little thrown off.

"Now." Eric doesn't wait for me. He turns around and walks right back out the door.

"Damn it," I hiss to myself. Hastily I grab my pen and notepad and rush out after him. Eric is knocking on the door across from ours.

"It's Eric," he says. "You wanted to talk." No response from inside. "Meet me in the bar."

"Who was that?" I ask, following him back to the elevator.

"An acquaintance," he responds vaguely.

Curiosity is nagging at me. "Okay, I have to know. No more evading questions. Why are we here and why did you want me here?"

Not even looking at me, he says, "You'll find out."

Irritation sparks in my veins, crawling up the back of my neck. Patience is not in my nature, and the fact that the only reason he's not telling me right now is _he's an asshole_ is making me bristle. The fear is still there, but I can't be pushed around. It's times like these that I summon up my lineage and force out the inner arrogant bitch I was raised to be.

I speed up and zigzag in front of him. I'm practically on my tiptoes in an attempt to level with him. His eyes still go over my head, but he acknowledges me at least. My hands are on my hips, and my best "are you serious right now?" face is on. "Eric," I say, and wait.

He watches me with a sort of calm irritation. I'm dismayed to think I might have to repeat myself. That would completely kill the bitch affect because I'd get embarrassed and it'd quickly turn into an oh-god-I'm-getting-ignored affect.

I raise my eyebrow, click my tongue. The epitome of impatience. Eric relents. "Yes?"

"I didn't come here to follow you around silently. I came here for a story, and I want to know why you brought me."

The elevator arrives ahead of us. Eric suddenly grabs hold of my wrist and tugs me around with him, pulling me into the elevator. Inside I see his eyes and the next thing I know the doors are sliding open. Eric brushes past me. What. the. hell.

I stomp after him, my heels clicking on the marble floor. I hate being confused. I hate being ignored.

"Eric, did you just _glamour_ me? I am not going to tolerate this treatment. If you think that I'm just going —"

"Hush." Eric turns so quickly I stomp right into him. My face is practically level with his chest. _Holy shit_, _he's tall_. My lips are suddenly glued shut and I can't breathe. In a low voice he says, "You are here on an impulse. It's a decision you don't want to make me regret." His fangs slink out. I gasp. His grin of satisfaction is enough to make me ashamed of my reaction, but I can't help fearing him, especially after missing time …

The conversation ends there, but after two minutes I wish I'd stood up for myself. It's just too late to say anything now. He grabs me by the arm and leads me into the lounge area of the bar, where he sits me down and looks at me. "You're here to take a biography of sorts. Not," he holds up a silencing finger as I open my mouth, "to keep me company. In other words, I don't want to hear you talking. You will write, and that's all you'll do." Eric settles himself into a lounge chair across from me and before I have a chance to fucking kill him for glamouring me a pale dark-haired man comes up and nods at Eric.

"Eric," he says.

"Bill. Have a seat." Eric gestures to the seat beside his.

I assume Bill is a vampire. The way he seems to know Eric and is yet not terrified of him suggests as much. It vaguely occurs to me he might be Sookie's Bill, but that'd be way too much of a coincidence. He notices me. "Who's this?"

Eric sighs and introduces us. "Bill, Marguerite Meyer; Marguerite, Bill Compton. Marguerite is my assistant in Pam's absence."

Well holy shit. Eric's warning is at the back of my head, but my mouth is open all the sudden and words are coming. "Wait, Bill Compton? Sookie's Bill?"

Bill smiles uncertainly. "You know Sookie?"

"Yes!" I straighten up in my seat. "I met her the other day. She was going to introduce me to you. I'm Daisy. Uh, Daisy's my nickname anyway."

His smile turns genuine. "Oh, yes, Daisy. Sookie did mention you —" and then a frown. "What are you doing with Eric?"

"I —"

"Enough. We have important matters to discuss."

With a look from Eric Bill and I are silenced, and the important discussion commences, which seems to consist largely of them subtly insulting each other. In any case, the focal point is the disappearance of a vampire named Godric. I believe Bill is right when he tells Eric, "This is personal for you," and while Eric provides a perfectly reasonable rationale for his interest, I sense there's more to it. I can see it. His eyes flick up toward mine for an instant, and I realize I've been staring at him. I quickly turn back to my notepad. It becomes apparent soon that this could be a huge human-vampire relations issue. The Texas Cowboy Vamps ain't gonna be happy if they don't get Godric back.

They decide they'll meat at Godric's tomorrow night, to discuss the plan of action.

That covered, Bill stands up to leave. I inch forward, anxious to say something but shamefully afraid Eric has had enough of me. But I was good throughout their conversation. I didn't interrupt a single time. So I smile at Bill and tell him, "Tell Sookie I say hi, will you?"

"Certainly. I'm sure she'll be happy to hear from you … even considering the circumstances."

The second he turns hi back Eric is beside me. I start as that smooth ancient voice suddenly speaks into my ear, "You know Sookie Stackhouse?"

Apparently this is significant to him. "Um, yes."

"And you have meaning to her?"

I'm caught off guard by that question. Do I have meaning to her? Uhhh … "I believe she considers me a friend."

Eric hums softly. "This certainly complicates our relationship."

I want to ask him what he means, but he leaves the bar. He says nothing more, doesn't even beckon me, but just strolls out. I'm not sure whether he expects me to follow, or if he even wants me to. And suddenly I'm in the bar of a vampire hotel all by myself.

* * *

_Cigarette_: I'm alive and oh so sorry. My world has really changed. I went from loads of free time, to some free time every now and then, to like 10 minutes of free time a day. It's very strange. Anyway I'm sick and off work right now, so yay free time! I'm sorry this is kind of a filler, but I wanted to see if my audience is even interested anymore. Let me know y'all. :)


	5. Quick Bite

I can see their reaction as my heart speeds up. The vampires know I'm frightened. They can hear my blood pumping through my veins. It must be like an aphrodisiac for them. A few crack slow smiles at me, and I find myself glancing around nervously, trying to act like I don't notice. But honestly? I'm pretty flattered. Their expressions suggest more than just "ooh, an unattended snack." Rather, they say "a _pretty_ unattended snack." Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I'm pretty sure that one vamp at the bar wants me for more than my blood. Well, I can't help but go warm with feminine pride at this idea. He's quite a looker.

I think my emotions will be the undoing of me. Eric's abrupt departure has for some unknown but surely stupid reason made me feel a little rejected. As a direct result, my subconscious decides that if Eric wants nothing to do with me anymore, than I want nothing to do with him, and that to prove it I will be as reckless as imaginable with the nearest receptive male. So I cross my legs delicately, straighten my spine, and send the most sensual smile I can conjure up right back.

The vampire at the bar picks up his drink hardly two seconds after and strolls over to where I'm seated. It's hard to be sure from this angle, but it's doubtful he's much taller than I am. He has an East Mediterranean appearance, with short scruffy hair and an angular nose. He looks like … a Greek god. Chiseled to perfection, but more lithe than muscular. Which is nice. It suits him.

I suck in a quiet breath as he sits beside me.

He leans in as he asks in a low voice, "Now what's a sweet little thing like you doing all alone in a place like this?"

"I really couldn't tell you." An honest, but distracted, answer. I'm busy cataloging everything I'm wearing. Cute summer dress, strapless. Deep blue with yellow and white floral swirls. On top of that a short-sleeved red cardigan. I have a pair of silver flowers in my ears and no other jewelry. Underneath … hmm, orange boyshorts and a fleshtone bra. I really do need to get around to buying more matching sets. But it could be worse.

"You don't belong to anybody here?" He takes my chin in his hand now, gently, and moves my head from side to side. Checking my neck for bite marks. I trust my makeup is still effective in covering Eric's teeth marks.

Which leads me to a horrifying thought. I haven't seen my face since before we left Bon Temps. What if my mascara has run? What if my eyeliner got smeared and my tasteful eyeshadow creased? So much can go wrong when it comes to makeup.

Since I can't really do anything about it right this moment, I crush down these concerns and give a flirtatious little laugh against my better judgment. "No, not me. I'm single and free."

He grins widely. "That's what I like to hear."

* * *

_Eric_

Marguerite, Daisy, whatever — is becoming a nuisance. Though I've attempted to explain my actions to myself, I can't rationale why I even brought her here. My half-formulated plan, developed as I watched her go from room-to-room in her house (stubbornly avoiding inviting me in), was to use her as my temporary assistant, biographer, and unwilling blood donor. However … I must admit I have no real need for an assistant while away from Pam, and I'm undecided as to whether I want a biography. There are a thousand years she has missed of my life, and I don't care to provide her with those details. The last point, then, is the most important. Though she allowed me a taste in Fangtasia, she certainly hadn't enjoyed it. I smile to myself at the memory. It's so rare these days to get consent _and_ a struggle.

Her blood itself is something. Two aspects of it combine to make her unusually, though not singularly, good. The first is her iron deficiency. Though healthy blood is the most filling and satiating, iron-deficient blood has a strangely sweet and light flavor to it. I've tasted it before, and though it isn't something I particular value, in Marguerite it is oddly … refreshing. Her innocence is the second aspect. She is not a virgin; I can taste that much. But the limits of her experience I cannot define, and she tastes younger and newer than I know her to be. There could be several explanations for this. She could have lost it very recently and the experience may not have been anything to her; she could have lost it during foreplay and yet not have "gone all the way," although I'm fairly certain this is not the case. I find myself curious about it.

At the very least she would serve as a distraction, something I've needed lately. Despite all her feeble attempts to hide it from me, I know she's terrified merely by my presence, and I had high hopes that she would put up a good fight the next time I chose to drink from her. Unfortunately, as it happens, now that's changed. Now she's a friend of Sookie's and I may not be able to mistreat her the way I planned. Marguerite has complicated matters … or perhaps Sookie has.

They both have.

Sookie is already bound by her promise to complete this mission, but I hesitate to test that woman. She is merciless when it comes to those important to her. I doubt she will continue to work for me if I harm Marguerite, and I need her too much to risk losing her over a fleeting interest in the writer.

This doesn't mean I can't play with Marguerite at all. I just have to be … careful about it.

* * *

"Can I buy you a drink?" the Mediterranean Undead God asks me with such a disarming smile I couldn't say no if I wanted to, and I definitely don't want to.

"Cosmopolitan," is my answer. Oh yes, tonight I'm a pro at this.

Alexandros, as he introduced himself, stands gracefully and winks at me as he moves off to the bar. I take this moment to consider what I'm doing. It's reckless, stupid, etc. etc. But it's exciting. I never intended to get involved with Eric the way I'm throwing myself in with Alexandros. Eric frightens and frustrates me, but this man makes me feel rebellious and cool. He could kill me easily, I am still aware of that … I'm just not afraid. A thought crosses my mind though … am I a slut if I let two different vampires bite me in under a week?

Two and a half cosmos later, I'm not sure how I got to this point. He is awful close to me. I … mmm, I feel nice. My brain is kind of fuzzy and warm and … and his hands are cold. And on my arms, lifting me up. I think I'm drunk.

Haha, wow, I'm stupid.

"Where are we going?"

He pulls me close and guides me out of the bar. I stumble clumsily but Alexandros doesn't let me fall. What a gentleman. "I thought you'd might like to see my room," he says.

I giggle girlishly. "Why?" I ask, leaning into him. "Is it different than the others?" I laugh outright.

He doesn't answer me. In the elevator I'm promptly pushed against the wall and kissed, but for some reason I find the whole situation incredibly amusing and I just start laughing again. I try to contain myself and take this seriously, but suddenly I'm extremely ticklish and as Alexandros starts to trail kisses down my neck I crack up. I feel lightheaded and silly, but that just makes it even funnier.

"Hush," he tells me, his voice husky. His hands are groping up my sides and the coolness of his skin is giving me goosebumps.

"Haha. Shh shh shh." I hold my finger up to my pursed lips, thinking I must look really cute and doe-eyed like this.

Alexandros shifts against me and shushes me a second time. His body is pressed clean to mine, and I giggle when I hear his fangs slink out. I never noticed how sexy that sound is. I laugh harder at that thought because it's so ridiculous. It's like I thinking putting my life in jeopardy is hilarious. Which it isn't, except right this moment.

The elevator stops with a soft chime, and I hear the doors slide open. Alexandros's fangs are pressing into my skin one second, and then he's gone. His weight was holding me up, and in his sudden absence I crumble to the floor — still in a drunk hysteria. When I open my eyes and look up it hits me why everything he was doing to me only made me laugh.

He is nothing compared to Eric, and Alexandros is seeing that for himself now too.

"Oh, shit." I've never sobered up so fast in my life.

Eric is standing in the doorway, fangs out, holding a squirming Alexandros back by his scruff as he glares at me. "_Daisy_." The nickname is used to demean me. It's young and girlish, and in this state — I note that my cardigan has mostly slipped off —I'm no longer sophisticated Marguerite.

He tosses Alexandros into the corridor, who stumbles but rights himself almost immediately. "She said she didn't belong to anyone!" he shouts, visibly ruffled. But he doesn't come forward to confront Eric directly.

Eric and I both ignore him. I have to practically climb up the wall to get to my feet. He only watches with that accusatory glare of his. "I did nothing wrong!" I protest as though I've been convicted of a crime.

I sway forward and catch myself against the doorway. I think my eyes are pleading against my will. I feel like I'm in so much trouble right now, but I don't really understand why and I wish I felt more angry than scared.

A moment passes and he turns away from me to Alexandros. "Is this your floor?"

Alexandros shakes his head, so Eric glides out into the corridor, picks him up, and pushes him into the elevator. He then grabs me and practically yanks me out. In my heels I trip, and with a small yelp I land on my knees at his feet.

Before the doors close on Alexandros, Eric growls at him, "Marguerite is not available to you."

For a second I don't dare look up at Eric. On the surface I want to say I'm baffled by his reaction, but my goal was to upset him, wasn't it? I suppose I just didn't expect such a childish plan to work. In retrospect it was a pretty bad idea.

Eric hauls me up by my upper arm and drags me into our room. I've never been handled so roughly in my life!

"Eric," I begin as soon as the door shuts behind us, but he doesn't allow me much chance to say anything else.

"Were you trying to get yourself killed?" Eric's voice is low. Even through the fuzziness in my brain, I can pick up something in it he's trying to hide. Restraint? My immediate conclusion is that he's trying to restrain himself from killing me. It doesn't really make sense considering the circumstance, but I'll dwell on that later.

I fold my arms across my chest. "I wasn't aware my life was any concern of yours."

"It isn't," he says easily. "But I'd rather not be held responsible for your death."

Well, gee. "How could you be held responsible? I'm my own woman. What I do with myself is my responsibility."

"Not when you're under my care."

"I'm not under your care! I'm just … here."

"You'll not leave this room without me, understand?"

That floors me. What fucking nerve. "Excuse me? You have no claim on me, Eric! If I want to go out and sleep with any vampire I want, I can. Just because you —"

I'm interrupted when Eric slams his body against mine. Violently, my hair is pulled back and I feel that quick pierce as his fangs penetrate the unmarked side of my neck. I gasp, "Eric!"

I writhe in his grip uselessly. "Stop it. _Stop_ _it_!"

Eric holds fast and continues to drink. When he finally pulls back, he hangs onto my hair and tilts my head so that I have no choice but to look him in the eyes.

"From now on, if anybody asks, you will tell them you're mine."

My nostrils flare. My heart feels like it's going to explode in my chest I'm so terrified, but I can't just take this treatment lying down. I wasn't raised to be a subservient little woman. I was raised to be a high-powered bitch. "I'm not."

"It makes no difference. You will not cover these marks the way you —" he touches the other side of my neck — "managed to conceal these. You will not tell another vampire you are available."

"You have no right to make such commands."

"Don't test me, Marguerite. I paid for your ticket and I'm paying for you to stay here. If you want to be left to find your own way home, then by all means disobey me."

Damn it. "You're a prick," I tell him.

He smiles at me.

I shove past him (he allows it) and sort of sway over to the bathroom. Oh, right, I'm drunk. "I'm going to take a shower."

A beat passes and I'm almost there when I hear his sardonic voice say, "Where's your notepad, _Daisy_?"

Ugh.

* * *

After a hazardous trip back down to the bar with Eric to fetch the notepad — the location of which Eric could have found on his own — I'm delighted to see we actually have a bathtub. At a time like this nothing could be better.

In reflection, I feel almost grateful for Eric's inopportune interruption in the elevator. If not for him, I'd have gone through with it all the way. I probably would've felt kind of shitty about it, too, but now that I didn't do it … I'm pissed at him. How does he get off stopping me from getting it on with a sexy Greek vamp and then ordering me around as though I were his personal bitch?

I want, very much, to disobey him. I want to throw his stupid rules in his face and parade around the bar with a big sign that says I'M FREE HAVE A BITE hanging from my neck. But there are monetary issues to consider. I haven't gotten my first paycheck yet. I'm living off leftover money from a part-time job I had last summer and a few Christmas checks. I can barely afford my rent, let alone a plane ticket and a taxi ride back home.

So I'm going to have to be good. For the most part.

Eric isn't in the room when I finish my bath, which I'm eternally glad for because I'd rather not have him catch me in nothing but a towel. I find my bags and change into a pair of gray sweats and a wifebeater, brush my hair, and stand in front of the mirror. Two huge, hideous bite marks mar my neck. I frown. Goddamn Eric.

I glance at the clock and start when I see it's 3:20 am. Vampire hours. This is like … 5pm to them. That, and the alcohol, and probably the blood loss too, explains why I'm so sleepy.

It figures there's only one bed. I consider taking it, but Eric would probably join me without qualms. Or maybe he'd just push me out. Well, I'm not ok with either of those options. I find a spare blanket in the closet and go for the sofa. It's black leather, and oh so soft. This will do fine. Seconds after snuggling up, I fall asleep.

* * *

_Cigarette: _yay! I'm so glad so many of you are still reading I had to write this asap. Luckily I was lot security at work and I brought my laptop so I just wrote while I watched the parking lot from my car lol. Let me know your thoughts! I'm trying to keep it realistic. :)


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